B-Celebrity

My birthname is Chad Nelson, before I moved to Cali, and legally got it changed. I acquired a nickname from my standup comedy. My fellows call me B, but ravenous fans chant B-Celebrity. I capitalized off a viral moment, when my punchline was about my own realization — I’m forever a B-Celebrity. When you capture the internets attention, you milk it until the hype cow dies. Then you take the carcass, tan and leather that thing.

I hit every V at my high school. My penis is magical, it causes whispers amongst women and men. It just is what it is. I was a star athlete, quarterback, etc., but got to D-1 through baseball, believe it or don’t. I don’t give a fuck. A lion don’t mind a herd animal. College was my realization moment. The pussy pyramid middles in college. You meet and bed consentually, drunkinly, the finest V a D-1 southern state can provide. The smartest girls, dreams of RNhood, Radtech, English teacher — all mandated the liberal arts first, freshmen year, poetry, philosophy, feelings of unfettered exploration. Everyone one knows about college. Even the nerds are banging, banging, banging.

But I realized in college, that I am not a good person. Every bullying I did in high school, I rationalized away. College: I honestly lost any animas to bully. Honestly. I even reached out to the dip shits I used to razzle, and they were okay. My life has been one float on a cloud experience. At every level, I’ve been the prince of the apple boughs of pleasure. My first real shock, was when the MLB never called — my whole life was working toward that. I was always a freakish, physical, athletic talent. But the world produces more freakish freaks.

I’ve never worked hard. I’ve always skated on my genetic codebreaking talent. A lot of my peers were competitive, but only after total concentration on craft, practice, fundamentals. Not me. I’m a midlevel freak, the closest you get to top tier freak. I was lost. Because the answer was burning a hole on my desk — an offer from a feeder team. I don’t work. I never learned to chase anything but adulation, and my freak gift got me only to this. No one really goes to those minor league games.

I had an existential angst period, for the very first time in my life, my senior year of ball, and fake college — the college lazy freak athletes attend. The lions don’t study nihilism or the romantic period, like the sheep. Though I did, but for fun, just to learn how the normal lives exist. What’s it like being average?